


happy birthday, old man

by ziggystars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Food Fight, M/M, Oral Sex, birthday blowjobs, but with feelings?, idk how to tag, louis is shit at baking, quite fluffy with a side order of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggystars/pseuds/ziggystars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every touch, every kiss shared between them always feels like the first time. He still gets that little jolt of excitement in the pit of his stomach, still feels his heartbeat race that little bit faster. Truth is, Harry wanted this for so long, going as far back as the X Factor days and now he actually has it, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. </p><p>(aka a birthday blow job but with a lot of feelings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	happy birthday, old man

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, tbh. It has been so long since I attempted writing anything. Harry turning 20 gave me inspiration but I kind of lost it towards the end so sorry if this is sucky (excuse the pun) also it's not beta'd so excuse any mistakes
> 
> Major thanks to Embrofic for reading encouraging me to carry on with this and reading parts of it for me!
> 
> Also, just so you know, I based the Louis kitchen scenes off these gifs because they made me giggle  
> http://31.media.tumblr.com/6152cfe79e518f9cef19111fe6f99c79/tumblr_n0dzsaJR6b1qebj6ko1_500.gif  
> http://31.media.tumblr.com/1088a5975317cc1afce6be2e760375e2/tumblr_mmvyrgWDgC1qcg1glo4_250.gif

Harry isn’t sure what he’s expecting to find when he gets home. It’s his twentieth and he knows Louis has been planning this for weeks. He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s been told to ‘fuck off’ just for walking into a room while Lou has been searching up gifts on the laptop or been in mid phone call with someone in regards to lord knows what. He’s prepared himself for all different kind of scenarios, gone through them in his head and stuck to the most obvious ones - a surprise birthday party though this he doubts because Niall can’t keep a secret for shit, a stripper (he’s hopeful, but doubtful because hell hath no fury like Louis Tomlinson’s jealousy), maybe even a large choir singing happy birthday to him and a bed covered in rose petals though that seems a little too extreme. 

What he’s not prepared for, however, is to walk into the kitchen and find a frazzled Louis on the floor. He’s sat bang in the middle of it, kicking his legs up and down like a child throwing a tantrum. There’s flour everywhere, powdering his tanned cheeks and clinging to his hair. It’s sprinkled all over the floor as well, smudged along the tiles and he can count at least three broken eggs in various places. His mouth opens, though no sound comes out. He’s not sure what to even say at this point and judging by the state of Lou, anything he does say will be the wrong thing. They might have only been in an established relationship for a month, but they’ve been in love a lot longer and known each other even longer than that and Harry knows how to judge his moods by now. 

Louis’ little breakdown seems to come to an end with one final flail of his legs and he huffs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face at the same time. One of his arms lift in a vain attempt to wipe the flour from his nose onto the sleeve of his oversized jumper, but he only succeeds in smearing it around his face more and Harry sighs. A fond smile appears on his face as he shakes a head, taking a step further into the kitchen. “Lou…” He breathes out, placing his keys on the counter as he goes. The counter, he notices, that is covered in a flurry of pots and pans, pans that Harry didn’t even know he owned until right now. 

His presence had gone unnoticed until now, but the moment his other half - it still gives him butterflies when he remembers that Lou is his, that that’s a _thing_ that actually gets to happen now even if management keep it hushed up - hears him speak, Louis is scrambling to his feet. There’s a blush creeping onto his flour stained cheeks and he glares, narrows his eyes as though Harry should have knocked or paid a marching band to announce his presence before entering the apartment. “You’re not supposed to be here until eight!” He accuses, once again wiping at his face because he knows he looks a mess and this was not how he wanted tonight to go at all.

See, Louis had a plan. This was supposed to be the best birthday of Harry’s fucking life. He was going to bake him a cake (naturally shaped like Louis’ penis because what else would it be shaped like?), give him his presents and then fuck him on the couch. But everything went fucking wrong. The main present didn’t turn up, leaving him with just the joke one which was a cardboard cutout of himself with bad hair and apparently, cakes weren’t as easy as the instructions made them seem especially not when you were trying to shape it like a male anatomy. 

“It is eight.” Harry murmurs, biting down on his bottom lip to try and hold back the laughter that’s desperate to come out. “In fact, I’m ten minutes late.”

“Well, in that case, I’m not talking to you.” Louis huffs, his tone suggesting that this is the answer to all his problems. He’s turning his back before anything else can be said and Harry can’t help but roll his eyes. It’s not the first time Louis has decided that he’s not talking to him. It’s kind of a regular thing. It seems to be Louis’ natural defence mechanism when something doesn’t go his way. As if he believes if he doesn’t have to face it or talk to it then it’s not actually happening. Well, not tonight. Tonight, it’s his birthday and Harry has no intention of spending it with a sulky faced twenty two year old. 

“Lou…” He coos, moving up behind the smaller male. Large hands meet slim hips and he pulls his boyfriend close to him until Louis’ back is pressed up against his chest. “Any particular reason why you’ve decided to destroy my kitchen?” He’s not angry, not at all. It’ll take a while to clean up, but he’s happy to do it and even if he’s not, they’ve both got enough money to pay someone else to do so. 

There’s a long moment of silence and at first, Harry starts to wonder if he really is going to have to spend his birthday with a sulky faced twenty two year old. Louis gives up in the end though, slumping his shoulders and leaning further back into him. “Was trying to make you a birthday cake.” He grumbles, voice so quiet that Harry barely even hears it. It’s not often that Louis gets embarrassed. It’s his confidence and ability to handle any situation that’s thrown at him with ease that gets them through the most difficult interviews. But in times like these, when he’s made an effort and it’s all gone to shit, that’s when his insecurities show. 

Harry smiles to himself, tucking his head onto his boyfriend’s shoulder and leaning forward to get a better look at him. He’s pouting, his bottom lip jutted out in a way that makes Harry want to lean over and bite it. “Heeeeey.” He whines, nudging at Louis’ flour covered cheek with his nose. “No pouting on my birthday. S’not allowed.”

“You can’t just make rules up because it’s your birthday.” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes dramatically, though his tone is a little softer than it had been before. He pushes his bum back against Harry and the curly haired lad tries not to focus on the pressure it puts on his crotch because that would be inappropriate at a time like this. Instead, he laughs lowly and buries his face in the curve of Louis’ neck. 

“Can to. You make up rules all the time, even when it’s not your birthday.” He mumbles, closing his lips over a small area of flesh and sucking it into his mouth before releasing it with a small pop. There’s no mark, sadly. They’re not allowed to leave marks, much to their dismay. “Why didn’t you just buy a cake?”

He instantly knows this is the wrong thing to say because Louis whines, high in the back of his throat like a pup that has just had it’s favourite toy thrown away and he wriggles slightly in Harry’s grip as though contemplating escape. Harry just presses his fingertips further into those hips, keeping a firm hold. “It’s not the same thing, Harold.” There’s an unusually quiet tone to his voice, almost shy where he’s been trying to do something meaningful because sure, a cake in the shape of a penis isn’t the most romantic thing in the world but it’s still the most romantic thing Louis Tomlinson has ever done. He’s not the kind of person for grand gestures, doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve because he’s too worried someone will steal it and never give it back. And now he’s tried and it’s all gone to shit and he’s mad. 

The problem is, Louis fucks up a lot. It’s never intentional, but it’s true. Like that time he licked Harry out in the bathroom after a performance and then insulted Larry Stylinson all over Twitter a couple of hours later. Or that other time when he didn’t realise Liam and Zayn was actually a thing that’s happening and he kept trying to set the latter up with one of the girls from Little Mix until Liam nearly hit him. (Literally, Niall had to hold him back while Louis hid behind the bathroom door. It was all a bit dramatic of Liam, if you ask Louis.) It’s not something he means to do, but it’s just something that happens. He’s the kind of person that acts before thinking. His mind moves that little bit faster than others, thoughts spiralling until he gets a little lost in all the commotion and just _acts_. 

This was his one chance to do something right, to make it special for Hazza and he doesn’t even seem to be able to do that. Hence the pouting. “I wanted everything the be perfect.” His voice is still a quiet mutter, though he at least starts to turn, his body shifting around so that he’s facing Harry. 

It’s Harry’s turn to huff, hands winding further around and shifting underneath Louis’ t shirt to rest at the bottom on his spine. “Don’t be silly, babe.” He soothes, tone charming, a slow and smooth drawl that lulls Louis into a calmer state of mind. “Just being here with you is perfect. You’re perfect.” His lips pressed against Louis’ jaw, tongue swiping at a bit of flour lingering there. Harry will never understand Louis’ constant need to impress, his desire to make people like him because as far as Harry’s concerned, Louis really is perfect. Even when he makes mistakes, even when he behaves like an idiot. Sometimes it’s hard to remember a time when Harry Styles wasn’t in love with Louis Tomlinson. 

Louis only let’s himself be distracted for a moment before his hands lift to settle firmly on Harry’s hips, leaning down to rest his forehead against his boyfriend’s shoulder with another disappointed grunt. “S’not perfect. I messed it all up.” He grumbles, tilting his head to press it into the crook of Harry’s neck instead. He always smells nice, Harry. Like home and cinnamon and everything that Louis has ever wanted in life. It’s soothing. “Didn’t even get your present here in time.”

Harry smiles, one of his hands moving up a little bit higher to trace the knobbles of Louis’ spine. “Dunno, I’m pretty happy with the cardboard cut out, to be honest.” And he’s not lying, either. It’s not a declaration of undying love nor is it a ring engraved with promises of the future, but it’s Louis. It’s so very Louis and that’s what matters. He knows it wasn’t supposed to be his main present, that Louis always has to get two because he gets shy so he has to follow up all meaningful acts with a joke to ruin it but it doesn’t matter. Louis could have given him shit in a bag and Harry would have probably still thought the sun shone out of his ass. “Gives me something to wank to when you’re off prancing around Doncaster without me.” He finishes with a cheeky chuckle. 

Louis scoffs, choking on his own laugh as he pulls back and shoves at Harry's shoulder. "Gross, Styles. Repulsive. You're disgusting."

“Ah, so he can smile!” Harry’s own face lit up, pleased with the response, as if hearing Louis laugh made him genuinely happy which it does. It has done ever since the first time they met in the toilet and he realised the sound of that laughter was better than any music he’ll ever hear. His hands lift to take hold of Louis’ face and he leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to flour-covered lips, followed by another and then one more for good measure. 

Louis tries not to, tries to remain focused on the problem at hand, but he can’t stop it from happening and eventually he melts into the kiss. Melts into warm touches and soft kisses because he’s so addicted to both, not that he’ll ever admit it. It’s not a feeling that he’s used to. The feeling of being secure and safe and protected. Louis has spent a lot of his life feeling on guard. He likes to blame it on bad parenting on his father’s side but truth is, he’s just naturally a closed off person. Eleanor opened him up for a while, but not like this. Never in the same way that Harry is able to. Harry somehow convinces him to let all his walls down, all those barriers. When he’s in Harry’s arm, Louis is free even it’s just for a few short minutes. 

The relaxation washes over him like calm waves from the sea and after a few moments, Louis pulls away from the kiss with an appreciative hum. “Mr Styles, are you trying to distract me from the mess I’ve made of this kitchen?” He teases, his tone a little lower and his face a little softer. All his muscles have loosened and the stress has disappeared. Now all that matters is Harry, Harry, Harry and Louis likes that feeling. He might even love it. 

“Maybe.” Harry murmurs with a smirk, leaning down to press a kiss against Louis’ temple. “Is it working?” 

Louis chuckles, his pout from earlier long gone and being replaced by a content little smile as he swipes their noses together in a short eskimo kiss. “Nope.” He lies, hands slipping into the back pocket of Harry’s trousers and giving his backside a playful squeeze. “Come on, birthday boy, you can help me tidy up as punishment for being ten minutes late.”

\-------

They don’t end up tidying up. They mean to, honestly. Even manage to put at least two pans into the dishwasher. But then Harry prods Louis in the side, cackles at him for being covered in flour and naturally Louis’ response is to smear a dollop of sticky icing sugar across his left cheek. It all goes downhill from there. 

Chaos erupts and by the time Louis has managed to pin Harry against the kitchen counter with a breathless giggle, the room is in an even bigger mess than it was before. Harry now has a mixture of flour and sprinkles in his hair, scattered all over and there’s even a flour handprint on his bum. One of the broken eggs has been smeared even more around the room where one of them slipped in the mess while trying to escape the other and a mixing cup has been knocked off onto the floor. Neither of them seem to give it much thought though, too lost in their own little world to be that considerate of their surroundings. These are Harry’s favourite moments. The moments that no one else can capture, moments that no one can take from him. It’s just him and Louis, no cameras or management to tell them what pose to pull or how to behave. Moments like these are precious.

One of Harry’s wide palms lift to cup the side of Louis’ face, his thumb purposely smearing flour that little bit more into tanned skin. “The ingredients are supposed to go in a bowl, babe.” He teases though he’s soon silenced by the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips against his. A small moan leaves the back of his throat as he returns the kiss, moving his hand further back to tangle in sandy coloured hair and teeth nipping at Louis’ lower lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss. 

These are Harry’s favourite kind of moments as well. Every touch, every kiss shared between them always feels like the first time. He still gets that little jolt of excitement in the pit of his stomach, still feels his heartbeat race that little bit faster. Truth is, Harry wanted this for so long, going as far back as the X Factor days and now he actually has it, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Louis’ hands slip under the bottom of Harry’s shirt, cool fingertips pressing into the warm skin underneath as his hips push forward in a brief yet still suggestive roll. It’s ironic how when this first started, it would always have to be Harry that would initiate first contact. Harry that would have to do all the hard work to get just one kiss. Now here they are and it’s Louis that can’t get enough. Louis that’s pressing him up against hard surfaces, Louis that’s currently grinding up against him while running his tongue along the roof of his mouth. 

The tables have certainly turned since that first sloppy kiss during the Up All Night tour, but Harry wouldn’t change that for the world. 

They’re breathless again by the time they pull apart, though it’s for a completely different reason now. Louis’ hands are already working at the button of his jeans, fumbling to get the damn thing through the loop while his mouth nips up and down various parts of his neck. He swears he feels one of them leave a mark, feels it throbbing a little longer than all the other nips but can’t bring himself to care because Lou’s hand has slipped inside and is now palming at him, hand flat against the material of his boxers creating a friction that is both delicious but frustrating. 

“Lou, we’re in the kitchen…” Harry protests weakly. He figures it’s his duty to remind them that’s where they are right now, that this the place where they (well him because Louis can’t cook for shit. Obviously.) prepare food, where they _eat_ but there’s no firmness behind it and his words seem to fall on deaf ears because his other half doesn’t slow down for shit. 

And then Louis is on his knees and Harry doesn’t give a fuck where they are. His trousers are down by his ankles in a matter of seconds, boxers following and there’s a hot mouth sucking on the pale flesh of his left thigh, this time purposely leaving marks because Louis knows this is the one part of him that no one else gets to see. The part that is completely his. “Jesus…” Harry hisses through his teeth, unprepared for the assault as his hands grip tight at the kitchen counter either side of him. 

Louis pulls off to look upwards, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Figured this is the one birthday present I can give you that I definitely know I’m good at.” He comments, a smirk appearing on his lips. 

Harry huffs out a strained laugh, shaking his head as he looks down at his partner and - it should be the most ridiculous thing he’s seen, if he’s honest. Because Louis is still decorated like a fucking birthday cake, flour on his face and sprinkles in his hair and an apron that he’s clearly stolen from Niall (because it says ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ on it) wrapped around his waist. But it’s not ridiculous. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Louis’ eyes are darker than usual, pupils blown wide and he’s already panting, as if the idea of being down there on his knees is getting him off more than it’s even getting Harry off. And that’s definitely the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen. 

His eyes close as he feels warmth and wet on his cock, Louis’ mouth suddenly there without warning. Harry’s knees buckle at the feeling of a tongue tracing the length of him, stroking down and then flicking up to lap at the precome already there. His knuckles crack as he tightens his grip on the kitchen side and he tries to focus on not falling over like an inexperienced teenager (because he’s twenty years old now, for fucksake. He should be able to have a little more control over his body but that’s hard when Louis knows how to play him so fucking well.)

“Louis…” The world seems to move that much faster as he feels Louis’ mouth close around the head of his cock, sucking and Harry’s embarrassed to admit that high pitched noise he just heard definitely came from him. Louis’ just so good at this, he always has been even. Even back on the tour bus, when it was all new to him - when it was sloppy and messy under the duvets, both of them doing their best not to wake the other three lads up - he’d still had the ability to tear Harry apart with just his mouth. It’s not just his technique, but it’s the noises he makes, the desperation in his actions, like it’s so important to him that he pleases Harry and it’s just, fuck. It’s everything. Nothing compares to it, _nothing_. Not even the older men that Harry once experimented with when he was first questioning his sexuality, the ones that had all the experience in the world and then some. What Louis makes Harry feel is beyond that, beyond anything. 

A sharp pinch to his hip breaks through the pleasure and Harry’s eyes snap open. “Shit, Lou - what…” His voice trails off, unable to form actual words as he glances down. Louis is staring up at him, eyes wide and innocent despite what he’s doing and he slides a little further down on Harry’s dick as if to apologise for his previous assault. Both of his hands stroke soothingly up and down Harry’s thighs, stopping to rest on his hips and he tugs him forward ever so slightly. His jaw goes slack, his bobbing come to a stop and he waits. 

Harry’s embarrassed to admit that it takes him at least thirty seconds to realise this is an invitation. And when he does realise, he’s even more embarrassed by the way he chokes on thin air, shoulders stiffening in a mixture of anticipation and nerves. This isn’t something Louis has offered him before. Sure, plenty of blow jobs. But never the chance to use him like that, to fuck into his mouth however he likes. He wants to, of course he fucking wants to - especially when Louis is waiting there so patiently for it, perched on his knees on the floor, Harry’s dick resting heavy on his tongue but no longer moving. 

But this is also Harry. He’s the gentle one, the big friendly giant that cuddles after sex and holds doors open for little old ladies. He doesn’t want to _hurt_ Louis. 

The first thrust of his hips is tentative, hesitant. Louis rolls his eyes (because apparently he can still manage to be sassy even with a dick in his mouth) and his hands move further back to grope two handfuls of Harry’s bare ass. He sucks purposely hard with a moan that’s almost pornographic and _that_ has Harry bucking forward without even meaning to, his hands scrambling for something to hold. One falls down on Louis’ shoulder with a vice like grip that might bruise and the other tangles in his hair. He tugs his boyfriend off his dick completely, biting down on his lower lip as the head nudges his cheek before thrusting forward into his mouth again. 

This time he’s more confident, pushes until he feels his cock hit the back of Louis’ throat and his head spins. Literally fucking spins. Both of them moan in satisfaction and Harry briefly wonders who is even enjoying this more, him or fucking Louis who looks in his element right now, but then he thrusts forward again and he stops thinking all together. All he can do is focus on the feeling, the way Louis’ mouth closes around him completely and sucks every time Harry pushes in. Focuses on the way his tongue laps at him each time he pulls back, pushing against the slut and groaning at the taste. 

Harry doesn’t want to admit that while he might be twenty today, while his stamina should be better, he’s seconds away from fucking losing his shit. Both hands are tangled in Louis’ hair now, tugging and guiding and fuck, one of Louis’ fingers has crept in between his cheeks. The pad of his finger is rubbing circles around his rim, never pressing in, just teasing and it feels so good that Harry can’t stop his thrusts from getting faster, harder. 

“Lou - “ He whines, but he can’t follow it up with anything because there are literally no words. The room is suddenly hotter. Breathing is suddenly very difficult and any hesitance that he had before has completely gone out the fucking window. His hips have got a steady pace, moving in and out and in and Louis’ mouth is sinful. “Lou, gonna - “ He can feel everything stirring, feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. He tries to warn Louis, even slows his hips down but Louis just whines at that and sucks a little harder, presses his finger a little harder so that it catches on the rim and that’s it.

Harry’s fucking done for. It hits him so hard that it feels like thunder has just clapped all around him. He can’t hear anything except for the long, low moan that leaves his own lips. His hands tighten in Louis’ hair and he tugs him down one final time, feeling his nose press against his pubes as his hips push all the way in. His cock throbs and he comes hard, doubling over as he feels Louis’ swallowing around him, not letting up until he’s swallowed every last bit of come that Harry has to offer to him. It hits him so hard, so much that he thinks he blacks out just for a moment. Everything is black and all he can feel is Louis. All he can hear is Louis. All that matters is _Louis_.

\-----

Harry is still panting against the kitchen counter five minutes later, his legs slumped and his head hanging down as Louis climbs back to his feet. His lips are soft, plump and slightly swollen and there’s a blissful look dancing around in his eyes. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to his green eyed boy’s cheek before nipping playfully at his ear lobe. Harry moans weakly, one hand coming up to rest on Louis’ bum as he tugs him closer despite how oversensitive every inch of his body is right now. 

“Fuck, Lou…” Harry breathes out once he finally trusts himself to actually speak.

“Happy birthday, old man.” Louis drawls out, somehow still managing to sound smug as hell despite the fact his voice is hoarse and croaked from his throat being fucked. 

“I’m still younger than you!” Harry tries to sound offended, tries to at least fake it, but it just comes out as a pathetic gasp where he’s still caught up in the aftermath of his orgasm. The hand on Louis’ bum tightens and he slots a thigh in between his legs, applying the smallest bit of pressure to the bulge that he finds there, hot and hard and begging for attention. 

Louis growls in response, sounding more like a cub than a frightening lion as his teeth playfully bite at Harry’s collar, tugging at his shirt before releasing it. He noses his way up Harry’s throat, realises that he _has_ in fact left a mark there but doesn’t feel a single inch of regret, doesn’t think about what management at going to say tomorrow morning when they see it. He’s too far gone to give a shit about anything right now. He ruts down against Harry’s thigh and Harry curses, turning his head. Their noses bump together before their mouths finally meet in a long kiss that’s long and hard and full of tongue, Harry not giving a single fuck that he can taste himself there.

They stumble backwards, mouths refusing to detach from one another even when they almost trip and fall. Harry’s pants are still around his ankles and other than that, the pair of them are still fully dressed, a fact that has Louis laughing into Harry’s mouth as the taller of the two lifts him onto the kitchen table when they reach it. Personal hygiene, be fucking damned. Harry will buy a new fucking table if he has to because nothing is stopping him from seeing how far back he can bend Louis over this table, from finding out how long it will take for Louis to beg for more once he has his tongue pressed against his hole like he plans to do. 

Louis seems to know this as well because he smirks, proud of himself, proud that he’s the one that has Harry this worked up so close after just reaching his peak and just tugs him closer.

Maybe Harry’s birthday wasn’t such a failure after all. 

\-----

Harry’s birthday present turns up three days later. Louis all but chucks it at him before leaving the apartment, refusing to be around when he actually opens it in case he hates. He doesn’t.

It’s a silver frame, a simple but beautiful silver frame and inside are the two tickets that both he and Louis used to go see The Script. The concert that they both attended, way back before there were tour dates and X Factor boot camps. It was technically the first day that they ever met. 

It had been a chance meeting, lasting mere seconds. Louis had been in such a rush, afraid he was going to miss the opening act, that he spilt his drink all over Harry. Apologies were mumbled and that was that. The encounter was brief, so brief that neither of them even remembered it until much later when they were curled up in bed, cuddling and talking about old concerts. But ever since they did remember, Harry had been convinced that was it. That was the day fate decided they were meant to be. 

Along the top of the frame, the date of that very day is engraved and in true Louis style, there’s a smiley face next to it. 

Harry thinks it might just be the best birthday present he’s ever had (well and the kitchen sex, of course because that’s a strong second.)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr! Leave kudos if you liked it though I doubt you did!  
> http://cuthbutt.tumblr.com/


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